There Is No Heart for Me Like Yours
by royal-chandler
Summary: "In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine." - Chris Jericho/Stephanie McMahon


**Disclaimer: **I don't own the WWE.**  
**

**Notes:** I happened upon a composition book from middle school that had lines from this fic scribbled in the margins. I was (still am for the most part) a huge fan of the Jericho/McMahon pairing and I figure it's about time I put something out there. I'm now 24. It's a bit overdue.

I've learned a lot of things about wrestling since coming up with imaginary scenarios for the Steph and Chris. I couldn't choose whether or not to break kayfabe so I don't have a place that I want to point to on a timeline for it. Chris is still a wrestler and Stephanie is still the boss' daughter. It can be up to you if it's the characters or the real people! Hope it's enjoyable! :)

Title comes from the lovely Maya Angelou. Unbeta'd.

* * *

The shop's sign flips over to 'closed' when they're within five feet of its door but that doesn't dissuade Chris from knocking all the same, making an annoyed expression appear on the face of the employee inside.

The woman points to the sign and Stephanie can tell that she's wondering if they're illiterate.

"Chris, it's not a big deal." Stephanie yanks on the hand he's got in hers. "Don't worry about it."

"What? No, Steph. It's like 9:50. This place closes at ten. It's this or we rob that Hostess truck two blocks down. She has to let us in," Chris replies before knocking again.

"And if she doesn't? What are you going to do then?"

"Oh she will. Watch out, babe, because here comes the big guns."

He then proceeds to pout in a way that makes him look about twelve years younger than he is.

Stephanie groans because she's in love with a complete lunatic.

A lunatic with magical powers apparently because the employee unlocks the deadbolt and let's them in.

"Sorry," Stephanie is quick to say. "We know that you're closed so we won't take a lot of your time."

"Well technically," Chris starts and Stephanie stealthily elbows him in the ribs to hush the rest.

They're met with a very forced smile. "It's no problem. What do you guys need?"

"A cake," Stephanie announces. "Whatever you have left we'll take it."

"Actually, whichever is the prettiest of the cakes you have left, Sarah," Chris says, inspecting the woman's nametag, charming now. A wide and happy grin takes over his face. "We just got married today. It was sort of a spontaneous and I might have proposed to her in the middle of her first cup of coffee."

The woman transforms practically as she coos, "Oh really? Aww, that's so sweet. So you didn't get to plan for a cake or anything?"

"Or anything. I feel like a chump about it so I want to get her something nice," Chris says earnestly.

When he had proposed to her in the hotel's dining room that morning, Stephanie had initially figured it for a joke. His way of lightening the grumpy mood she tends to get into at the crack of dawn. She had laughed but he hadn't. He had rambled, apologizing about not having a ring—_I will buy you one on the way there, Princess_—but that he meant this—_I want to spend every day of my life with you. Marry me, please_—more than anything. Stephanie had then kissed him into silence. Tucked away and sat at a corner table, behind a fake ficus like some sort of sitcom, Stephanie had told him yes, at a loss for any other words.

She recalls standing in front of the Justice of the Peace, remembers her heart hammering and being afraid that it would pop right out of her chest before she got to finish her vows. The words had sounded clumsy to her own ears but Chris' returning smile was perfect and his eyes had been brimmed with tears, so she thinks that she did okay. She'd been a mess at Chris' vows.

It's still incredible and Stephanie is half-expecting to wake up from a dream because a year ago, she wouldn't have guessed that it would come to this. Meeting Chris, there'd been fireworks—a shouting match within five minutes of meeting. Somehow they had just known exactly where to push each other even as strangers and it'd gotten the attention of others in the hall, had gotten back to her father who made them work out their differences or else. Stephanie doubts her father had foreseen that the mandatory meeting between the two of them would turn into coffee, into dinner and drinks, into Stephanie finding her best friend and a love like no other.

It's them, Chris and Stephanie, for the rest of their lives.

The employee gestures over her shoulder. "I've got a chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting in the back. I can decorate it for you. What are your names?"

They're hardly hounded celebrities, far south on the list of the paparazzi's most wanted but they're not unknowns either. They've got matching baseball caps on just for that reason.

Chris takes care of it in a casual tone. "I'm Keith," he starts and slyly adds on, "and this is my wife, Muffy."

"Muffy," Stephanie echoes, underwhelmed, once they're alone and left sampling day-old almond cookies.

"You don't really look like a Marie," Chris remarks. He chews with a glint in his eyes. "I like Muffy. It's kind of cute."

"I kind of hate you."

"Mmm, I love it when you send death glares my way."

Stephanie's still miffed about Muffy when the cake comes out but it dissipates almost instantly because the small cake is gorgeous, perfect for two and decorated in silver and purple with ornate edges.

Chris insists on paying for it but Stephanie digs into her wallet all the same and searches for the largest banknote she has. She stuffs the hundred into the tip jar.

They return to their hotel suite and sit cross-legged on a rumpled king-sized bed, start in on the dessert.

After a bite, Stephanie moans in appreciation. "Cake for refueling was a genius idea. I have to give it to you. Although we could've just ordered up, you know."

They have a cart in the room, topped with chilled champagne in a bucket of melting ice and two covered plates with steaks that have probably gone cold.

"Boring," Chris sing-songs. "I'm all about the adventure, baby. Spontaneous proposals and cake hunting. It's a good story to tell the kids if nothing else."

"Kids, huh?" She asks.

Chris nods. "Definitely. A brood. Has to be an even number though. So there can't be any handicap matches. More than one for sure because while being an only child can rock, it sort of sucks too."

Stephanie stops at that and gazes at him curiously. They had touched the topic once, at the beginning, throwaway comments really. "That's some serious contemplation there, Chris."

"I mean, I haven't been doodling names in my binder over here but yeah, when I ask a woman to marry me I'm counting on her being the mother of my children. What says you?"

Stephanie pictures a little moptop with her eyes and Chris' smile. Nothing could be better. She leans in to kiss him, deep and slow. When she breaks away, she's in no hurry. "Don't worry about names. I've got that part covered."

"Feel like sharing?"

"Ask me in again in a few years. There's no need to rush. Although a shotgun wedding would work as a great explanation right about now. My father's going to kill me."

Chris barks out a laugh. "That's generous of you, Princess. No, no, no. Actually your father is going to kill _me_ and you'll tragically be a widow faster than you can say you're fired." He impersonates her father in a way that is scary accurate.

Stephanie winces a little. "Maybe I should tell him alone and you can hide in a bomb shelter? Keep away from the blast."

"I'm not a coward, Steph. We'll tell him together, alright?" He reaches for her hand, places a kiss on the band circling her finger and Stephanie knows with everything in her that she won't ever take back marrying this man. She's not for anyone else and neither is he.

Chris continues. "I'll just tell Vince the truth. That he could demote me to, I don't know, washing the locker room's tights for the rest of eternity if he wants and it'd be fine with me. I wouldn't care as long as I'm your husband, Stephanie. I'm not with you to climb a ladder and I'll prove it to him."

"Yeah, you must love me," Stephanie says with her head of his shoulder. "I'm way too much of a bitch."

"Atta girl. I've always said that you're a smarty." His breath warms the crown of her head and Stephanie can feel his grin. He grows serious. "God. Love you so much that I don't know what to do with it. It's everywhere."

She meets his gaze and the intensity there. It nearly steals her breath. "I love you, too, Chris."

They nose into a sweet flavored kiss that turns into a handful. A promise of something more.

"He's going to be upset that he didn't get to walk me down the aisle," Stephanie concedes after a comfortable quiet passes, after the thought has rolled over in her head for a countless time. "I think that he'll be more hurt than angry. I don't regret it. Being married to you," it's such a short time now but she doesn't think that she'll ever have be able to describe the new feeling that's taken hold of her. The awe. "I love being able to call myself your wife, I can't even tell you but I feel for him. I think that he's always wanted to do that."

Chris shrugs. "That's easy enough. We'll just get married again. Invite both of our families. Friends. We'll make a shindig of it."

Stephanie considers him, drawing back. "Really?"

He has a habit, where he doesn't like to lose contact with her. He swings her legs over his lap. "Why so incredulous? It's not like I haven't done it before, right?"

"You would do it," Stephanie realizes as her heart floods with affection. "You would do the church, the tux, all of the flowers and seating arrangements, and the big band. You would do all of it."

Feigning offense, he asserts, "Excuse you. I'm all about bands."

Stephanie kisses him in apology, stroking through his long hair with her fingers. "I adore you and all of your talents but Fozzy is not allowed to play at our wedding."

"Buzzkill. I'm gonna sing one way or another."

"What's frightening is that you are not joking at all."

Chris shrugs, zero shame to be had.

"Well I do know one thing. Married life with you won't be boring," Stephanie mutters, beyond content with the fact.

"You can bet on that. Wait til you see what I have in store for the honeymoon," he says purposely, voice like sin in her ear. He then puts their half-eaten cake aside and rolls with her, settling her on top of him. His hand travels along her side. "You will be wowed."

Stephanie wiggles and delights at the groan she gets out of him. "You're full of talk. How about you show me what you've got in store for tonight? Still the day of my eloping you know."

He waggles his eyebrows comically. "Why, Muffy, you are a scandal."

She smirks down at him. "Bet on it."

…

**Odd Years Later**

"Daddy."

A sharp knee digs into Stephanie's thigh, that is definitely not "Daddy's", and jerks her from half awake—she'd heard Zander tip-toe to the bed from his adjoined room—to fully alert. She wraps an arm around her son and pulls him in between Chris and herself, snuggles him into the blankets.

"Mama!" He gasps in surprise, laughing.

Stephanie opens her eyes and sweeps Zander's bangs aside with fondness. "Let's give Daddy five more minutes, baby. Today's a big day. You remember what today is right?"

Zander bites his lip in consideration before answering, his blue eyes bright. "Hall of fame!" Stephanie puts a finger to her lips. Smaller, and in a whisper, Zander repeats, "Hall of fame."

Stephanie smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek and one to his forehead. At four, Zander isn't too old for his mother's kisses and Stephanie is more than aware of how precious that is, how fast time goes by. If having three teenagers has taught her anything, it's that. Zander had come to them as a surprise. Chris had just been crowned world champion at a pay-per-view and to describe their celebration as enthusiastic and a little reckless would be an understatement. He had decided to hang up the boots soon after Zander's birth, choosing to retire then and there rather than fizzle out, be as active a father as he can with a sound body.

Stephanie's the head of the WWE so he's not completely out of the business, still advises her every now and then, listens to her endless chatter, and will give insight to in-ring action that she doesn't get but he's fine with being officially on the outside for the most part. He's proven himself. She'd always believed him but she knows Chris and she knows that it's important to him, that integrity.

"Mama," Zander starts, taking her out of her head. "Can I have chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast?"

"Sure you can."

"Mama."

"Hmm?"

"What are you going to say about Daddy in your speech?"

It's an innocent enough question. Except it's entirely recited, Stephanie can tell. She looks at her son in amazement. "Zander Grant, did your dad tell you to ask me that?"

"No," he answers instantly and that's always his tell.

Stephanie narrows her eyes. "I want the truth, Zander."

She can practically see the wheels spinning in her son's head, the spitting image of Chris at his most devious. "Uh, I was just wondering."

"The jig is up, chief. Make a run for it," says the mound beside them. Her husband's face pops out a moment later with a shit-eating grin. "Oops. I see that you're caught in her merciless clutches. You're doomed, man."

Stephanie mocks shock and attacks.

"Daddy." Zander draws out the last syllable and starts hiccuping with laughs when Stephanie's fingers catch his sides, tickling him. She cradles him in her arms and blows a raspberry to his cheek. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Ah! Daddy, save me!"

"A hero's work is never done," Chris says, put-upon. He then begins to tickle Stephanie in return. She shrieks and squirms, letting go of Zander in the process and crying out 'uncle.'

"That is so pathetic," Stephanie says once she's recovered, shaking her head. "The lows you stoop to. For what has got to be the thousandth time, you are not seeing my introduction speech."

The pout that's aimed her way was not adorable. Nope. "Aww, come on, Steph. Just a hint. Like the first paragraph or something."

"Not happening," Stephanie tells him. "You'll hear it when everyone else does."

He flops back on to the pillows. Whining, he argues, "But I'm not like everyone else. I'm a Hall of Famer. Capitalization completely intended."

Stephanie rolled her eyes and leans over to place a quick kiss on his mouth. In the background, Zander moans his disgust per usual. "And humble to boot. I'll have to add that in somewhere."

"Where exactly?" Chris nudges. "In front of what words?"

"The footnotes. That's where." Stephanie sighs. "You do realize that we can't play twenty questions all day?"

Chris mutters gibberish before agreeing. "Fine but you should know that I'm upset."

"Duly noted," Stephanie remarks. She sits up and hauls Zander into her lap. "Alright, traitor, the sooner you brush your teeth, the sooner you eat."

"I've got dibs." Chris rises from the bed and scratches at his beard. "Do I get chocolate chip pancakes?"

Stephanie rolls her eyes. "Not for corrupting our son, you don't. I'll call the kids to wake them up."

"Lindley and Ava should be fine but you might wanna send the National Guard after Dylan. Kid's a zombie. Although I guess teens and the walking dead are interchangeable." Chris comments as he heads to the bathroom. He flips on the lights, audibly winces, and closes the door behind him.

"Chris!" Stephanie yells seconds later, sudden. "Chris!"

He wedges back open the door and regards her strangely. His toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. "Are you injured? You don't appear to be injured."

Pride swells in her chest and she can't help herself, doesn't want to. She's so grateful that they've made it. "Congratulations. I love you."

There is a beat and Stephanie knows that she had caught him off-guard. There's a sheepish expression on his handsome face.

"Love you too, Steph," he says, heartfelt. Then he shudders visibly. "We are depressingly sentimental in our old age."

**fin**


End file.
